Seeds of Rebellion

by Manuel Lozano

It was that old dust cloud that brought me here, picked up and kept up by those old rebellious forces through harsh terrain where the landscape is unforgiving. It came up through whirlwinds where the cacti pierce flesh. Up and over the sierra and toward the river where the lines draw no borders, but merely provide the barriers to crash through- that form of insistence that can only be resisted.

At the banks of the Rio Bravo it settled down long enough to be molded into this physical form, pigmented by the desert terrain. There I was rooted to the mystical forces, baptized by shamans and inundated with visions of quetzal feathers, jade pendants, obsidian blades, bandoleers of ammunition and Villa’s and Zapata’s sombreros. All those made of maize inhabit the dreamscape.

Long set in motion, it only grows bigger. The beat of each drum and the serpentine rattle convey the emotion as that cloud keeps expanding and can not be ignored. The rhythm is pulsing as each foot pounds the dry cracked terrain and that wild coyote echoes each verse. The flow of the water has been reduces to a trickle, but the tune it once carried forever yearns to be heard.

In righteous rebellion I encode the melody, forever inscribed with cosmic perspective. There’s no time to settle, only to move on in life’s natural progression. Each thought speaks aloud and travels the distance marked with scar tissue and drenched deep in sorrow. The old ones told me their path was mine, and we declare our existence as the seeds of rebellion break through the soil in the fields we plow.

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